


Ostinato

by whalersandsailors



Series: Musical Neighbors [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Rare Pairings, Two music-loving dorks and a dog, terror bingo 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:07:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22407703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalersandsailors/pseuds/whalersandsailors
Summary: It has been three short months since George made his neighbor's acquaintance, and despite how close he and Edward Little have become, it is not until a rather nosy question makes them evaluate their relationship.
Relationships: Lt George Hodgson/Lt Edward Little
Series: Musical Neighbors [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954204
Comments: 16
Kudos: 38
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	Ostinato

**Author's Note:**

> a sequel to [Allegro, B Flat Major](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388933) & written for the terror bingo prompt **didn't know they were dating**
> 
> (also only halfheartedly edited since i'm impatient for hodge's _birthday_!!)

Winter has arrived with fury, and George already regrets leaving his cozy childhood home for the cramped, drafty flat. He sits square in the center of his bed, several layers of sweatshirts and socks and blankets still not enough to keep his knees and toes from aching. There is frost on the edges of his windows, and were it not for the paltry midday light filtering from an overcast sky, George has half a mind to close his curtains to retain what little heat is in the room.

His kettle finishes boiling on the counter with a click, but he can only dredge enough energy to look at it.

He is saved from the dilemma of removing himself from his cocoon, however, when a key rattles in the door, a dog scratching at the door when it does not open fast enough.

Excitement buzzes through George, and he quickly does a onceover; patting his hair down, straightening the three jumpers over his undershirt, running his tongue along his teeth to check for any particles of food, and — while not entirely removing himself from his bed — sliding the blankets off his shoulders so he looks somewhat more presentable.

When the door opens, Neptune bounds in, racing past the piano and heaving himself onto the bed. Any attempt on George’s part to right his appearance is lost when the massive black dog drapes himself onto his lap and shoves his wet snout against George’s cheek.

“Neptune, don’t do that,” Edward scolds from the door, where he is juggling a laptop bag and two takeaway containers. He kicks the door shut with his foot as the keys fall from his fingers, and he groans. “Shove him off if he’s too much.”

George lets out a rather undignified shriek when Neptune’s sloppy kisses start to tickle, but he shakes his head, ruffling the sides of the dog’s fuzzy ears.

“It’s no bother,” he insists through gasps and chuckles.

Edward raises a dubious eyebrow as he picks up the keys (with another soft groan), and he deposits the food on the counter.

“Have you eaten?” he asks while he unpacks two tubs of curry and hunts down a pair of clean spoons.

George has, a meager half-eaten peanut butter and honey sandwich, but he says that he has not.

“I tried texting you,” Edward says, his voice and chin dropping, as George has noticed he does when he feels uneasy, “what kind you wanted, but…”

His voice trails, and George casts a guilty glance at his mobile where it lies charging on the floor across the room. With a whispered apology to Neptune, George rolls the dog off of him and picks the blankets off his lap to join Edward in the kitchenette.

“It all looks delicious.”

The statement earns him a shy and very pleased smile from Edward. George tries to calm his racing heart as he grabs a pair of mugs and distracts himself making tea. Edward moves the food to the card table by the couch, settling himself on the worn cushions, and George soon joins him, his hands warmed by the two cups of tea.

As soon as he sits down, a gust of wind rattles the windows, and with a huff, George stands back up and marches to his bed, retrieving the blanket pinned under Neptune’s considerable weight.

Neptune starts to whine, but Edward — without looking up from his food — gives a sharp snap of his fingers that quickly shuts the dog up.

George still feels guilty as Neptune’s deep brown eyes watch him sadly, so he gives the dog a few hearty belly rubs in apology before he rejoins Edward.

The couch is wide, but George tells himself that the sagging left corner is why he chooses to sit close to Edward on the opposite end of the couch. Edward either does not notice or care, as he has already propped his laptop on his knee, several documents open on the screen. Feeling emboldened, George sits close enough that they can share the blanket.

Edward leans against him, letting George wrap the blanket around both their shoulders.

“How was holiday with your aunts?” he asks around a spoonful of curry, his eyes trained on his hands as he adds and deletes several sentences from the article before him.

George halfheartedly looks at the document over Edward’s shoulder, the technical terms for ocean currents, glacial composition, and Polar weather patterns all flying over his head.

“It was good,” he says, picking at his food slowly. “I think they were relieved to see that uni hadn’t scared me away.”

A silent laugh shakes Edward’s shoulders as he inserts a bleak looking image of the Arctic into the corner of the document.

“I’m sorry I missed you coming home yesterday.” Here, he glances at George and then away. “My boss just sent me this but needs it back by this weekend.”

George nods, remembering the note from Edward that he found at his piano the day before, the apology very long and very wordy and so delightfully _Edward_ that George did not at all hold it against him. He was rather charmed by the fact that Edward took the time to leave him a note, for heaven’s sake.

Such was their friendship, George thinks to himself, in the time that the pair have gotten to know each other. Edward now spends as much time in George’s flat as he does his own, so it was also a short month into their friendship that George made a duplicate key for Edward. He had to force it into Edward’s hand, insisting that it would save both of them hassle, and _it really is_ no _trouble having you here, I_ like _having you here,_ and, despite Edward’s beet red face, he promised George that he wouldn’t lose it.

“How was yours?” George tosses the same question to him, thinking nothing of it. He rests his chin on Edward’s shoulder, feeling Edward sigh as he sets the laptop aside.

“Uneventful.” He twists so that he and George face one another, making the blanket fall at the same time. “It’s nice having you back. It’s been quiet around here.”

George laughs, delighted. “You would say that.”

Eyebrows raised, Edward pats his leg. “I mean that I missed you, your playing and…”

He stops, as though uncertain what to say.

Coming to his rescue, George stands and circles around to the front of the piano.

“I would hate to deprive you more, my good man,” he jokes as he sits at the bench (which Edward had purchased for him weeks ago and that George, his pride somewhat stung, hadn’t the heart to refuse). “Do you have any requests?”

Edward leans back enough that George can see the top of his head reclining on the arm of the couch. George spreads his fingers, his right hand lightly pressing a couple notes as he waits for him to answer.

Still silence.

With the awkward tension rapidly mounting, George starts to get back up only for Edward to beat him to it.

“Why not some Chopin?” he asks, sitting up enough so that his eyes can peek at George over the top of the piano. He looks away, to where Neptune is now sound asleep in the center of George’s bed. “I like Chopin,” he adds, in a distant voice, something else clearly on his mind.

So, that settles that. George bends down and rifles through his music selection.

“Any piece strike your fancy?” he asks, more to fill the air, as he grabs a much used and practiced booklet. In his defense, Edward does not offer any different suggestions.

The music starts unhurriedly, with the mellow rhythm of the chords balancing the wistful melody. His fingers are a bit clumsy from the chilly room, but it is not the stiffness in his joints that makes him miss a note when the sudden and solid presence of another body sits next to him on the bench.

After a couple missed notes and a sharp inhale on his part, George continues the song without any more mistakes.

Beside him, Edward is quiet while he watches George’s hands move along the keyboard.

His words are nearly lost under the trill of the piano.

“What are we, exactly?”

The song stumbles to a halt once George fully realizes what Edward asked.

“What?” he asks, dumbly.

He looks over to Edward who is staring hard at his hands.

Edward wets his mouth before saying, “It’s just—” One false start. “I always thought—” He stops himself again. He finally finds his steam and says in a rush, “When you were gone, Dr. Stanley saw me leaving your flat and demanded to know what I was doing. I told him I had a key to which he looked terribly confused and said that he didn’t think you were gay. I didn’t know what to say to that, but then he actually _smiled_ at me, which was even worse and asked how long we had been seeing each other.”

The monologue hangs heavy in the air, interrupted as Neptune starts fidgeting in his sleep, half-barking, his paws twitching.

Edward looks uncomfortable and ready to leap to his feet at any moment, but George stops him by holding his wrist.

“He smiled?” he asks, his voice wavering between wonder and horror.

Edward blinks at him.

“He did,” he affirms, with a serious frown. “Quite terrible, actually. Someone should tell him to never do that again.”

George nods with him, also very serious, before the tickle in his throat makes him burst out laughing. Edward grins with him, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He giggles until his stomach hurts, and his heart surges when Edward leans against him, their heads gently knocking together.

When their laughter subsides, George asks, “What did you tell him?”

Edward shrugs. “Nothing. He wished us well and left before I could properly give any answer.” He looks down where George’s hand holds his arm and, hesitantly, covers George’s knuckles with his free hand. “Are we together?”

Truthfully, George has not given it much thought. He desperately _likes_ his neighbor and enjoys his company. He remembers with a bit of embarrassment how one of his aunts asked if he had made any friends, and apparently some great, unspoken story traveled across his face because his other aunt squinted at him with a feral, little smirk and asked if he had made any _special_ friends (emphasis entirely hers; George made no comment and stuffed his mouth with an overly large bite of pudding to avoid answering).

He also thinks back to the evenings where Edward has joined him, their backs pressed together on the couch as George works through an assignment and Edward answers emails on his laptop. Then there are the times where that will shift to them sitting shoulder to shoulder, watching videos until they fall asleep, George somehow ending up sprawled on top of Edward. Or the rarer occasions, they even meet outside of their building for coffee or lunch, Edward listening with great sympathy as George complains about his piano lessons or one of his cantankerous professors.

It all hits rather suddenly, and he feels stupid for not realizing it sooner.

He looks over at Edward whose earnest eyes are fixed on George.

“Do you want to be together?” George asks.

The beginning of a smile tugs at Edward’s lips, sweet but unsure. “I thought we already were.”

George leans close enough that their noses brush together. Edward’s eyes flutter shut, and George takes full advantage to truly look at his face, eyes trailing along the fine lines on Edward’s forehead, the length of his eyelashes, the pale freckles along the bridge of his nose, and finally his perfectly shaped mouth.

With a burst of courage, George kisses Edward. It lasts a second, but before he can sit back, Edward touches his cheek and kisses him back. They kiss again and again and again, each one as brief and soft as the one before it.

They end with their foreheads pressed together, knees bumping and hands tangled.

“I suppose we are,” George says, finally answering Edward’s original question.

Edward is the first to pull away, though he keeps their hands interlocked. “This doesn’t change anything, does it?”

Surprised, George shakes his head and rights himself at the piano. “I don’t believe it will.”

An idea strikes him, and he grabs Edward’s hands once more. He positions Edward’s hands over the keys, with his hands spread on top. He guides Edward through a simple melody, each note ascending to the ceiling of the room as unassuming and pleasant as birdsong.

After a few more tries, repeating the same melody, Edward hardly needs George to continue guiding him, but they keep their hands pressed together as Edward rests his head on George’s shoulder and plays the song again.


End file.
